


The Breaking Point

by aerstwhyle



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Multi, Nami centric, Post-Apocalypse, War, be warned, dark themes, unrated version
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-06 23:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12828183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerstwhyle/pseuds/aerstwhyle
Summary: It's much too easy to forget what you don't want to remember.In a decaying world torn by war, Nami finds solace and protection in the company of one Trafalgar Law and subsequently, within the ranks of the Revolutionary Army.  However, the longer she stays with the ever secretive doctor, the higher the volatile tension between them grows, neither one able to bring themselves to trust one another.  As it seems, though the past may be behind you, it never really leaves.  But some stones are best left unturned, and some people will do unspeakable things to keep it that way, no matter the cost.





	1. ONE

**_o_ ne | if i die**

* * *

 

 

She can’t breathe.

 

She’s making quite the scene, she’s sure, with the way she’s clawing at her chest and trying but failing to stand up from the snow.  The snow is red where she touches it, the stain of her bloody hands tainting the powder soft, damnably wretched white.  Exactly forty-five degrees to her left, the two men who’d jumped her would be tainting the snow as well.  The one with the blond hair should be still clutching a stone in his left hand—she’d broken the right—as it was the weapon he’d used to slam and crush her ribs when he’d pinned her to the ground under the weight of his knees.  The other, the one with the brown hair—the one she’d disemboweled with one swipe of her knife—is still breathing, albeit barely.

 

She’s not quite sure whether it’s her who cannot hear clear enough, or him who cannot breathe strong enough.

 

She should do something about that.  About him.

 

It’s dangerous to leave the enemy alive, especially when so close.

 

But—

 

She _can’t_ breathe.

 

Her fingers find purchase in a nearby tree, bark biting underneath her fingernails as she pitifully tries to scrabble up the trunk.  Strangely, it doesn’t hurt.  That in it of itself is worrying, she know it should, but the man with the brown hair forty five degrees to her left moans and she forgets that train of thought.

 

The jagged moan is pitiful.  Like her.  Unlike her, however, he can breathe.  The lucky bastard.

 

 _Call for help_ , some part of her screams.

 

And she should, oh yes she should.  The others shouldn’t be— _can’t be_ too far from her in the woods.  If she can get a word out, then they should come to aid her.  They owe her at least that much.  She’s the reason they’re still alive in the first place.  So, logically—hopefully—if she calls for help, someone will come for her.

 

But she can’t _breathe_.

 

“Hel—” she begins, but is stopped by a hacking cough that is alarmingly painful.  Blood chokes her, and no matter how much she coughs in attempt to clear her throat, it is to no avail.  Only more blood comes, so hot that it burns as it leaks from her nose.  It splatters over her hands, down her chin and across the tree.  Tears prick the edges of her eyes, and her vision blurs.

 

 _Calm down_.

 

The thighs of her weatherproof pants feel suddenly sticky, and she realizes that her stomach is throbbing.  She’s cut herself in her flailing.

 

 _You’re panicking_.

 

Her vision is tunneling.  The burning in her chest is unbearable, and no matter how much she tears at her neck, _she cannot breathe._

 

Black curls in her peripheral, and she wearily blinks it away, only to have it return more aggressively and rapidly each time.  She can’t feel her fingers.  She can’t feel her toes.  The snow is no longer cold.

 

 _You’re dying_.

 

She’s going to die.  Strangely, the thought isn’t as terrifying as she thought it would be.  It excites her, if anything.  Will she be missed?  Will she be mourned?  Does hell await her?

 

Who knows.

 

Pity, though.  All her treasures and finery would be left lonely and cold, forever hidden from the world and doomed to rot, like she once was, so long ago.

 

But wait—

 

Do the others know about her safe house?  Her maps?  Would they know to leave her things in the right hands?  She is not prepared.  Death was not part of her plan.

 

And just as she’s lamenting her irresponsibility, there’s a flash of blue black fur, white teeth and tanned skin filing her tunneled vision.  Fingers with bold black letters branded above the knuckles reach out, and as they brush against her wrists, she opens her mouth to reprimand him for touching her— _again_ —but before she can form the words—not that she could, even if she wanted to—she is already falling into the darkness.

 

He says her name—desperately, and maybe even a little bit frantic—but with how faraway his voice sounds, it may just be a trick of her mind.

 

“Nami,” he says, so faraway, “Nami.”

 

 _Good_ , she thinks as her world goes dark, _maybe he’ll learn to not be such an ass after I’m dead_.

 

 _And maybe_ —

 

She smiles to herself.

 

— _maybe I can finally see you_.

* * *

~~_...if i die, will you miss me?_ ~~

**the _break_ ing point**


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Past chapters are in italics. Past events occur before the first chapter, never after—exactly when, however, is entirely up to you to figure out.

**_t_ wo | the face you don't yet know**

* * *

 

_“Welcome,” he says with no warmth, “to the Revolutionary Army.”_

_The blond man with the scarred face gives her a tight smile—a simple upturn of one corner of his lips.  By his side, the girl with the wide bluebell eyes offers one that is more sincere, as if trying to compensate for his lack of enthusiasm._

_Nami is many things, but stupid is not one of them.  This man does not trust her, nor does he seem inclined to in the near future.  So be it.  The sentiment is well returned._

_“Thank you,” is her curt, borderline rude reply._

_They fall into silence._

_The girl with the bluebell eyes fidgets, gaze flickering rapidly between Nami and her leader.  When it becomes apparent that the blond has no intention on speaking, the girl is quick to fill the silence._

_“Well,” she says as she places a hand on the cobalt chair the blond sits rigidly in, “we need all the manpower we can get, don’t you agree, Sabo?”_

_Nami watches the girl with unblinking eyes.  Wonders just how far the girl is willing to trip over herself to amend things._

_“I’m a woman,” Nami says pointedly._

_“Ah!  Did I offend you?  Womanpower as well.”  The blue eyed beauty is wringing her hands now, unable and unwilling to meet Nami’s gaze._

_The only comfort Nami gives is a plain, practiced smile._

_“Say, Nami…”  the girl begins with a hint of nervousness that is beginning to be almost amusing._

_“Yes?” Is Nami’s one-word reply._

_“As a pirate—”_

_“I am_ not _a pirate.”_

_They both startle at the sudden intensity.  Nami breathes shallowly, clears her throat, and tries again._

_“I’m not a pirate,” she says, this time a little bit too soft._

_“Oh.  Um, well, I was informed that you were apart of a crew?  Once?  Can you tell me their name?”_

_Nami feels her smile slip._

_A crew?  The only crew Nami can even guess at being affiliated with at this point is Law’s, but even then, it’s only out of necessity, pure consequence.  The only crew before that—_

_“_ No _,” Nami says firmly.  Perhaps too firmly, judging by the blond man’s sudden frown._

_“Have you ever been?” asks the girl.  There’s something shining in her eyes, something in the edge of her voice that suggests—_

_“No.” Nami repeats.  “No.”_

_The girl blinks those wide blue eyes.  “Oh.”_

_And though Nami waits patiently for these two to continue, she finds herself shaking.  She clasps her hands behind her back in attempt to hide her malaise._

_To everyone’s surprise, it is the man who speaks next._

_He reaches into the folder sitting on his mahogany desk and pulls out a single sheet of paper.  Steady, he asks, “Have you seen this man?”_

_It’s a picture, a wanted poster, really, but the photo on the poster is glossy and bright, and with the way the boy’s smiling at the camera, it might as well be a photograph.  It’s a nice smile, Nami notes with a pang of sudden longing, eyes scrunched from the force of it, lips stretched wide and all pearly whites on display.  His hand is reaching towards the lens, as though maybe he’s waving or patting the photographer, and just to the side, is the back or someone’s head.  A familiar head, but don’t all head look the same from the back?_

_“Well?  Have you?” he prompts, a tad of impatience in his clipped tone._

_She realizes then that she is staring._

_Nami raises her gaze to meet his, an instinctive nervous smirk curling at the edges of her mouth when she sees the fire in his eyes.  Neither of them blink and for one breathless second, the room is at a complete standstill, caught between the tension off the scarred man’s taut body and her own.  When she speaks, that fire in his eyes burns brighter._

_“No,” she says evenly.  “Never.”_

* * *

 

~~_how can you forget a face you don't yet know?_ ~~

**the _break_ ing point**


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind that Nami is nowhere near stable in this narrative. The title alone does not imply stability. Enjoy. More is to come.

**_t_ hree | white walls**

* * *

 

 

Nami’s bandaged fingers twitch against the wrappings around her abdomen.

 

It itches.

 

Badly.

 

The medication that Law forced her to takes with a stern glare and no nonsense scowl has dulled the pain, but the itching is steadfast.  She’s tempted to tear at the gauze and whatnot and scratch wildly at the skin around her newly, neatly stitched scars underneath but Law wouldn’t take too well to that.  Tie her to the bed and strip her naked, he would, if she did as she pleased.  The bastard would smile while doing it too.

 

She bets he’s smiling now.

 

She can hear him humming in that awfully off tune way of his through the walls.  If the itching doesn’t drive her mad first, then his voice will.

 

She’s half tempted to cut his blithe tongue from his lying little mouth so that he may never make that wretched noise ever again, and the thought is so relieving—so pleasing—that she plans on how she will do it once he returns to check her wounds.  Since she does not have her knife, perhaps she will use her fingers, pierce the inside of his mouth with her nails, watch as he begins to choke on his own blood and as—and—and…

 

Nami remembers then, that Law is her friend.

 

Friends don’t hurt each other.  Friends help.  Not hurt.

 

She looks at her meticulously bandaged hands and realizes that she needs him more that she wants him to stop humming.  Nami decides that she will leave Law and his terrible humming be.

 

But the urge to get up—the urge to act, to do—will not leave her so easily.

 

The room which the ‘Doctor’ Law, has imprisoned her in has no windows, no decoration, no stimulation.  There is one door, one bed, a metal bolted table, chair and four walls, all of which, is stark white and smelling of sterile antiseptic.  The floor is concrete, and Nami suspects that if she were to stand on it long enough, blood would seep from the pores.  This room—this prison—is naked, and likewise, Nami feels the same.

 

Stripped of her weapon and gear and instead dressed in a simple blue shift, she is exposed, open, weak.  The absence of the familiar weight of her knife against her thigh and her swords against her back is unnerving.  Just one weapon, just one shard of something sharp would put all her worries at ease, but Law is always careful to never leave his medical tools and equipment in the room with her.  Not that she would actually hurt him with them, even if she has thought about it.

 

Besides, Law is her friend, and friends help, not hurt.

 

…She wants her swords though.

 

The knob of the white door turns with a dull creak, and Nami’s eyes dart to it.  Law’s figure is so large that the doorway doesn’t fit it.  Or maybe, the doorway so small that his figure doesn’t fit it.

 

Either way, Law cannot enter without turning to the side.

 

The smell of carrots and chicken that wafts in with him makes Nami’s mouth water.  Ah, food, it’s been too long since she’s eaten anything substantial.  She’d even begged Law for a bite of something, but Law was and is the stubborn caretaker.

 

No solids yet, he’d said.  Yet.  Maybe if she is patient, she can change his mind.  Maybe, she can try again today.

 

There’s a shine in his bright amber eyes, and the slight upward curve of his mouth tells her that he is in a rare good mood.  Her eyes fall from his face to the ground and his slipper clad feet as they shuffle over to her bedside.

 

They’re too dirty for Nami’s comfort.

 

That’s right.  Nami hasn’t done the laundry yet.  Of course they would be dirty.

 

She should so something about that.

 

“…listening?  Nami?  Nami.”  Law sighs like she’s a lost cause.  His lips press into a firm line and his eyes are cold when Nami peeks up at him through her lashes.

 

“Did you hear me?” he asks from his seat on the metal chair.  The bowl of soup he’s brought steams invitingly beside his elbow on the tabletop.  Her eyes fall back down.

 

“They’re dirty,” she says when Law reaches over to adjust the heavy down blanket over her lap.  He pauses and pulls back—just barely—frowning as he raises his tattooed hands to inspect them.

 

“I—” he starts, but she is quick to cut him off.

 

“They’re dirty,” she repeats.  “Your slippers.”

 

He sighs.

 

She blinks.

 

A heartbeat then, “If I take them off, will that make you happy?”

 

She mulls it over slowly with a fast deepening frown.  “…No.”

 

“Nami—”

 

“Law,” she says as she picks at a loose thread in the blanket, “where are we?”

 

The menial action causes her fingers to throb and she whimpers when a particularly harsh tug sends a sharp pain up her arms.  Law is quick to scold her.

 

“Stop that,” he reprimands almost soullessly.  Nami complies, but does not relent her stare until he answers.  “The Polar Tang,” he tells her, “we’re on board the Polar Tang.”

 

Nami watches his face with a careful calm. 

 

“Really?” she asks.

 

Law watches her back, the vivid brightness of his amber eyes unshakable. 

 

“Yes,” he says, “really.”

 

The Polar Tang.  Law’s ship.  Nami’s new home for the better part of the past year.  Safe.  Yellow.  Bepo.

 

Nami lets some relief trickle over her, but still—

 

“Where are the others?”

 

Bepo must be worried.

 

If he is still alive, that is.

 

“Nami—” Law begins, but Nami decides that she doesn’t really want to know.  Not yet, anyway.

 

“Will you feed me today?” she asks, her eyes on the cooling soup.  She wonders if he’ll actually do it this time, instead of watching her awkwardly fail at trying to hold a spoon.

 

Law backtracks and turns to stare at the soup before picking up the spoon, albeit reluctantly.  He even makes sure to blow on the soup before pushing it into her mouth, something she never thought he’d care to do.  How kind of him.  Maybe her almost dying spurred him to have some semblance of tact.

 

When all the soup has passed her lips and the bowl sits empty on the cold metal tabletop, Nami sits passively as Law attempts to wipe off her mouth.  She almost flinches at the roughness of his touch, almost reprimands him for never remembering her limits, but not today.

 

Not today.

 

Today, she wants her swords.

 

“Law?” her voice is soft and small.  He stops to look down at her her with cold, distant eyes that are painfully familiar.  The quiver of her lip isn’t something she has to fake, much to her dismay.  She bites down on her traitorous lip and says with as much child like innocence she can summon, “Can I have my swords?”

 

Those cold eyes narrow.

 

“Why?” he asks.

 

The one-word question is a challenge, a test, and his tone tells all.  He seems to have forgotten that if she wanted to, she would have killed him already.  Sleeping targets are something of her specialty, and the number of times Law has slept beside her has given her more than enough possibilities.

 

“I miss them,” she says easily.  And it’s the truth.  She misses the weight of the against her shoulder, the subtle reassurance, the smell of steel, the memory of—

 

“It’ll make me happy,” she adds when he doesn’t answer immediately.

 

He watches her for a long time, then sighs.

 

He does that a lot lately.

 

Sighs.

 

Nami almost wants to make him stop doing it.

 

It annoys her.

 

Maybe if were to take his tongue—

 

“Okay,” he says with a small nod, as though he is convincing himself, and Nami is so pleases that she decides once more to spare his tongue.  “Alright.”

 

Nami smiles.

 

It is enough for him, and he says nothing more as he strides across the room with the tray and empty soup bowl.  He hums as he opens the door.  Nami’s eyebrow ticks.

 

 _His damned humming_.

 

Law is lucky he is her friend.

 

Law hums for the next two hours, and Nami hates every second of it.

 

She finds herself repeating quietly to herself, “Law is my friend.  Friends don’t hurt each other.”

 

When his blasted humming finally, _finally_ , stops, Nami lets her eyes slip closed, and to her surprise, for the first time in months, she sleeps.

* * *

 

~~_that four white walls can keep me prisoner almost makes me want to laugh... how pathetic i've become._ ~~

**the _break_ ing point**


	4. FOUR

 

**_f_ our | _lines on paper_**

* * *

 

_“Your maps sure are nice, Miss Nami.”_

_Nami can’t help but smile at the bear sitting across from her._

_Should she tell him she has no idea what she’s doing?  That her hands move on their own?  No, she shouldn’t.  He would worry, and when Bepo worries, he tells Law and when Law is told, Nami is put under the dark doctor’s anger._

_“Mine look nothing like yours.”  He pushes his sheet away from himself and slumps in his seat, already beginning to brood._

_A cursory look over to his side of the table reveals his statement to be true, but Nami’s trained eyes can tell that though his map is clumsier and contains less aesthetically appealing details, everything important is marked precisely.  His map is accurate, and that is what matters most.  She tells him so, but he is ever the hard one to pull from his self destructive states._

_“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she chastises him with a wag of her manicured finger, “Practice makes perfect.”_

_Someone told her that once.  She’s not sure if it’s true._

_“Sorry…” he mumbles behind his collar._

_“Don’t apologize either, you didn’t do anything wrong.”_

_“Sorry…” he repeats, still behind his collar._

_Nami sighs._

_Sometimes the guy is too hard on himself.  She reaches over to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but the sound of an approaching person stops her._

_A man.  A man is coming towards the room._

_She whips her head to the open doorway, her body tensing and slowly rising out of her seat, one hand sliding to the knife strapped to her thigh so that when—_

_Oh._

_It’s just him._

_She lets herself relax when she sees Law’s figure enter.  Law doesn’t mean her any harm.  She falls back into her seat._

_“Nami,” he says, bringing her attention back to him.  His eyes almost immediately slip down to her ample cleavage bursting from the skintight jumpsuit she was given.  The action does not go unnoticed by her or the other occupant in the room._

_“My face is a little higher, in case you’re curious, Law,” Nami says with a condescending snort as she angles her body away.  The feel of a man’s leer on her is sickeningly familiar and Nami doesn’t like it.  Not one bit.  Law doesn’t bother to apologize; he simply raises his gaze._

_Maybe she should change her wardrobe._

_Bepo stands from his chair and nervously sidesteps towards the doorway._

_“I’ll just leave you here with the captain, see you at dinner Miss Nami.  Bye Captain!”  He smiles, or at least tries to before turning tail and racing to the doorway._

_“Wait, Bepo—!”_

_He is already gone and down the hall.  Nami huffs a bit at having been ignored by her favorite bear, but recollects herself when Law slides easily into the chair Bepo was just occupying moments ago._

_He tosses an object at her, and it lands with dull thud on the tabletop beside her newly inked map._

_A book?_

_“What’s this?” she asks as she lifts it into her hands.  It’s heavy for such a small thing._

_“Can’t you tell by the cover?”  He’s smiling.  It’s not a happy one.  He’s teasing her._

_Nami doesn’t like that smile.  It nags at something in the far corner of her mind, something dark and dirty and foul, something of which, she doesn’t want to think about right now.  She focuses on the book instead._

_Nami stares thoughtfully at the book, running her palms up and down the smooth leather cover before opening it to one of the many dog-eared pages.  The pages are worn, soft and well loved, judging by the scrawls in the margins and between the paragraphs.  Her fingers trace the endless lines of what she knows are supposed to be words, but are nothing but lines on paper to her.  A deep sense of loss wells up in the pit of her stomach, and for the life of her, Nami cannot understand why._

_“Nami?”  Law is watching her when she looks to him, his gaze is expectant and bright.  When she can no longer stand his golden eyed stare, she turns away to face the book once more._

_“I can’t read it.”  Her fingers are trembling against the paper._

_“I can’t read the words…” she says softly, more to herself than to him._

_Law stares at her for the longest time._

_“You can’t… read anymore?”  He says this to himself and under his breath, so Nami knows better than to respond._

_He says nothing more when he stands to leave.  It’s okay though.  Nami doesn’t know what she would say to him.  She’s afraid of what he may ask, and what he may do when she gives him the answer._

* * *

 

**the _break_ ing point**


End file.
